


Beached

by glow_in_the_dark



Series: Beached [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Friendship, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mild Gore, Other, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sirens, half-shark, lore!lock, mer!Sherlock, mer!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glow_in_the_dark/pseuds/glow_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John returns back from Afghanistan to England, London no longer feels like home. Harry suggests he should move out into their old family home up in the North fo Scotlad just below Cape Wrath. John loves the oceanic veiws and begins to settle down into his new, invalied life.<br/>After a terrible storm John walked the coastal beach for driftwood to turn into beautiful carvings when he hears the crying chirps and clips of what sounds to be a beached dolphin. As he gets closer he discovers a sharks tail and gets confused at the sound the creature is making. Peering over the branches that trap the creature on the shore, John doesn't believe what he see's as a half-shark/half-human clicks away at him in trapped distress.<br/>How will John proceed with this mythical creature??</p><p>NOW BETA'D!!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beached

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: That M/M and Other tag is there because I don't know how to class mer!lock with John, lol.  
> I'm not sure how many chapters this will have yet, at least two more, possibly more, depends on the old plot and whther it will come willingly or not, lol. So I'll turn this into a series, that way I can upload appropriate tags as I go.  
> But for now, just enjoy a bit of mer!lock and a master woodcarver John, lol.
> 
> UPDATED!!!! I've gone and got the amazing beta Lneible to edit this work for me. And holy damn do I mix past and present tenses like crazy. I've also added about 300-400 extra words, so if you are re-reading this, it might be a little easier on the eyes and brains. KISSES xoxoxoxoox

John had become a man of many trades.

Borne witness to the horrors of war, he had seen the insides of more men than he ever wanted to. Rivers of endless blood, shrapnel embedded flesh, limbs torn clean off from landmines, clean bullet holes, messy bullet holes, _intestines…_

And now, John had succumbed to never-ending nightmares of not being able to save enough men.

Never being able to save enough _lives._

After a bullet ripped through his shoulder, John was sent back home. Except home no longer felt like home. London. England. It just didn’t feel right. It felt too claustrophobic, too closed in, nothing like the wide open plains of Afghanistan. And all the help people offered him; Harry, his army-appointed psychiatrist, other veterans -- nobody seemed to understand. And despite his apparent diagnosis, John knew that he didn’t have PTSD. He thrived in messy situations, was able to prove his worth under stress.

Without the chaos, he was lost.

So John decided to leave England, but stay close enough that, should he ever need to, it was well within reach. Harry had suggested he move to their old family house on the northwest border of Scotland, just below Cape Wrath. It looked over the sea, the house old and strong, built to test time. This, in turn, provided a view even larger than the burning sand plains of Afghanistan. Its closest neighbours were several kilometres away, the family land so large he would never have to talk to anybody unless he wished it. The house had belonged to their Great-great-great-great-great-grandfather who had passed it down from son to son, his will stating that the house should never be sold and that it would belong to the eldest male Watson to pass on to his son. With his father having passed away several years back, technically, the house was his now. It only made sense for him to move to it. Make it his new home.

_“I loved that place as a kid. Granddad was always working in his workshop, fixing things for the neighbours and carving wooden toys for us to play with.” John smiled at the fond childhood memories._

_Harry smiled too, a very rare thing for both Watson siblings to be honestly smiling in each other’s company these days. “Clara and I went up there two months ago. It’s exactly the same as it was when we were kids.”_

_“You’re kidding me?”_

_“Nope. Exactly the same. A bit too much the same really. All the old beds were there and the linen was the same, the furniture, the…”_

_“I get it. It’s_ all _the same.” The both shared a small laugh, each enjoying the happy atmosphere that only fond old memories could bring._

_“So if you are going to move up there, hire a skip to throw away all the old stuff and bring anything you’ve got with you. What you don’t have, I’ll get for you.”_

_“Harry, you don’t need to… I’ll manage fine on my own.”_

_“Are you kidding me? I’m not doing this for you. Clara kept bitching the whole time about ‘how much potential this place has. If only you’d let me decorate it we can make more trips up here and not have to blow up an airbed just to sleep’. I’d be doing both of us a favour by letting her go all natto on the old place. She’s got good style and I’ll tell her about your personal ‘less is best’ decorative sense.”_

_“But are you sure I can just… claim the place. I know my name is on the deed now, but it’s clear that both you and Clara like the place too. And you are the eldest child. The place should really go to you.”_

_“Yes, but Great Grand Pappy only wanted the eldest dicks of the family to own that house.” Harry smirked._

_“Great grand sexist jerk.” John returned her smirk as they enjoyed a small quiet lull in conversation._

_“We will come up and visit the place whenever it’s convenient to everybody. There are five rooms total in that place, plenty of room for you to live comfortably and plenty of room for Clara and me to come and stay for a night or two every now and then.” Harry took a sip from her Coke, Clara’s presence an angel-send for Harry’s alcohol abuse. Seven months sober now._

_“… Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll move up north.”_

His army pension would suit him perfectly out here, nothing tempting to spend it on but the bills and groceries. He had considered finding work again, maybe applying to work as a General Practitioner in the local town, or a bit further into civilisation as a Ward Doctor. He dismissed both ideas immediately. The life of a GP lacked any form of excitement, and Ward Doctors had to be able to move quickly in the event of an emergency. And ex-army-doctors-with-a-limp simply wouldn’t be able to keep up with the hectic to and fro of a hospital. 

Which left John with no will to work, and little to do to fill that time. And so he set out to become a Jack-of-All-Trades.

\-------------------------------------------------

The first day John arrived at the family house, Harry and Clara had done most of the heavy lifting in getting his belongings into his new home. Harry had offered to help him unpack, but John had put his foot down and insisted that they had done enough already. Professional movers arrived at 14:30 to haul all the furniture in from the moving truck Harry had rented for the big move. Clara bustled about happily as she went about setting up the room Harry had declared “theirs.” It made John smile that his sister and her girlfriend were going to be a part of his life in his new home filled with only happy memories. And it helped that he and Harry got along so much better when his sister was sober.

As Clara flittered between their room and John’s (making beds, arranging furniture, hanging drapes and chucking out anything that was deemed _“old and gross”_ ), Harry set about making dinner as John hobbled about the kitchen unpacking appropriate boxes.

He hadn’t moved up with much, his extended time in the army leaving him with few possessions. But Clara had gone and bought a bunch of decorative items to liven the old place up a bit, instructing John to leave anything he didn’t like or want in their box to be taken back. And honestly, on a few things remained in their boxes, John liking the majority of what Clara had personally picked out for him. He even liked the complete dinner set she had chosen; the plates and bowls made of something that looked like black porcelain, the minute white hairline fractures making something as ordinary and dull as a dinner plate look elegant and beautiful.

Once they had eaten dinner and the dishes were cleared, cleaned and stacked, John excused himself from the happy couple’s company with false proclamations of fatigue and over exertion. 

Clara should really consider taking up interior design full time. John’s room was perfect as far as he was concerned. The entire house had hardwood floors, so Clara had matched the upholstery accordingly. The smoky wooden dresser was large and sturdy; the wood was imperfect and littered with flaws and holes that gave it an ancient-but-still-standing vibe.

The posts of his large king bed where of the same wood, holes and dark grooves drawing John in to run his hand over the varying textures. His bed was made with white Egyptian cotton sheets and the thick duvet covering it was a light grey-blue that eerily matched Scotland’s grey skies on a fine day. At the end of the bed was a dark navy blue blanket that had been folded back should John require extra heat in the middle of a cold night. The seven pillows at the top of the bed varied between the white and blues, the small one in the centre a shimmering silver with delicate patterns decorating it. He’d never need seven pillows, but the overall look was too nice for him to ever tamper with.

His bedside tables were made of the same wood again, and John decided he really did like the imperfection of it, the little disfigurements in the grain making the wood all the more beautiful. He’d have to ask Clara where she found all of this furniture. An alarm clock was on the right table, so that when John was in bed it would be to his left. Each table had a glass vase with small, flat, rounded stones in it, thin stalks that ended in a little poof of fluff emerging from the stones (John never could remember the name of that plant). A floor length mirror sat beside the dresser, rimmed in that same blemished wood.

John saw a small closet adjacent to the en suite. Walking into his own bathroom, John smiled at the tranquillity of the little room. A shower was directly in front of the door, a bathtub occupying most of the room. Clara had obviously sent ahead a plumber prior to today because the shower, tub, and sink were all modern. Another vase to match the ones on his bedside tables sat in the windowsill, a piece of driftwood accompanying it. The window in the bathroom stretched out horizontally, the glass stained in no particular pattern of colour. John couldn’t wait to see the sun filter through the glass and illuminate the plain bathroom in a variety of colours.

Yes, John did like his new room very much. Tranquil and serene; so very different to anything he would find in London or the desert. A complete change of pace that would help him heal and recover as he figured out what to do with this new chapter of his life.

\-------------------------------

_**“FALL BACK!!!”** _

John awoke to his own voice yelling, sitting upright in bed. He was covered in a cold sweat and a sense of urgency thrummed through his veins. His spacious room felt entirely too small, claustrophobia setting in as John ripped the covers back and stumbled to the French doors in his room, unlocking them with shaky fingers. The moment the doors were unlocked John yanked them open, the cold sea breeze curling around his body. The shocking difference between the hot desert sun and that of Scotland’s less than welcoming climate assisting his still nightmare infused mind to understand that he was not in Afghanistan getting shot at and watching his men die. He closed the doors behind him, stepping outside to let the cold seep into his bones. 

His claustrophobia was reserved for his wake from nightmares. Something about waking and not being surrounded by acres and acres of sand and desert made him feel closed in and trapped. John felt his hysteria calm with the sound of the waves crashing and smashing their way onto the pebbled beach, the chaos and destruction of something as seemingly harmless as water washing away the last tendrils of his nightmare. He could enjoy the chaos the sea brought. And facing the open ocean brought nothing but chaos. The sea churned, foamed, thrashed; Poseidon throwing his godly weight into the currents and tides.

John just knew that moving up here to the edge of the world was the smartest decision he had ever made.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Spare time proved to be a deadly enemy for John, for idle minutes brought with them a feeling of uselessness. 

His daily routine always started with sitting on the porch for as long as it took to finish a cup of tea, watching the sea and letting the unpredictability of its temperament calm him.

Standing slowly, John clasped his left hand tightly around the handle of his aluminium cane and shifted his weight gingerly down across the shore front. The smooth stones that moved beneath him made balance a fight, but John kept his shoulders square and continued along the pebbly beach, chin raised high against the sharp shots of pain.

The aim to these difficult strolls was to find suitable driftwood. John would scour the beach as far as his bad leg would let him and haul the appropriate piece of sea-water-smooth wood back to his home. He started by carving simple things first. Little fish and dolphins. Coral and detailed shells. Once he had some basic carving knowledge to work with, John began carving things that were a little more complex; the human heart, the skeletal structure of a mollusc, and even a cherry blossom tree with little glass flowers that were attached with wire, so that when the wind swept past, the blossoms would sway. One of his distant neighbour’s daughters had come to him with his bi-weekly delivery of fresh, full-fat cows’ milk asking for the aforementioned tree, wanting to get her mother something special for her birthday. She had offered up all her savings, just less than £15. John could see by the determined look in her eye that if John didn’t take her hard earned pocket money then she’d take her business elsewhere. They had haggled a bit before finally settling on £5, the price of the thin but sturdy wire, John claiming everything else could come from nature. He’d spent the night researching on how to make small glass flowers and devoted the remainder of his week to mastering the art of glass blowing. 

John moved on to carving different themed chess pieces after that: standard, safari, the army hierarchy and an ocean themed set. The oceanic one was his favourite. 

Out of sheer boredom John had carved several canes, each different with its patterns and designs. He never used them though.

He carved to the point where the old calluses that covered his palms and fingers from handling assault rifles and pistols where replaced with ones born of a firm grip on wooden handled carving tools and the many different textures of driftwood. The skin of his hands grew resistant to the occasion splinter, and any interlopers that breeched his flesh were met swiftly with lips, teeth and tongue

And now he spent his time carving ornaments to fill his home. They all generally revolved around the sea. They were beautiful and ornate, depicting dolphins, fish, coral, tumbling waves, anything the sea outside his back door inspired with anatomical detail that could only come from somebody who studied medicine. These sea themed ornaments became somewhat famous throughout Cape Wrath. Clara was smitten with his carvings. Every time Harry and Clara came up for a little getaway Clara would look at the carvings cluttering up his living room and load them all into the car to sell back in London. And John was more than happy to sell away his hard work. 

Because each and every carving brought a scowl to John's face.

All John saw in the complex carvings was wasted time due to an invalid’s aliment. Yet try as he might, John couldn't give up carving, for if he didn't carve, he would be stuck doing nothing. And remaining stationary caused a vile poison of self-loathing to run thick through John veins. 

So John would sit on his porch after a long uneventful day of wondering if he would ever get better, ever be able to walk without a limp or the aid of a cane. He’d look out into the ocean as he drank his tea, pick his cane up, and walk down to the shore to hunt for suitable driftwood. 

\----------------

A great storm had roared against the shores last night, John watching as much of the chaos as he could from the French doors in his room. The water droplets rolled down the glass, illuminating with any light they caught.

He’d reinforced the doors himself after paranoia kept suggesting that the glass would shatter and doors fly open the next time there was a storm. A shipment of bulletproof glass and sturdy wooden frames later and John was confident that nothing short of a full blown attack by Poseidon himself would pry his bedroom doors open.

His shoulder ached something fierce from his awkward perch against the doors last night as he moved about making himself a cup of tea. Once the water had boiled and the fresh tea leaves had been strained, John walked out onto his porch and sat in his usual rocking chair overlooking a rather calm ocean. Yesterday, the sea had rolled in angry waves, Poseidon showing his fury with the change of seasons. There would be a great bounty of driftwood upon the shore today, and John couldn't decide whether or not he was happy with the thought of endless carving. 

\----------

The walk down to the shore was slow and painful, the nerves in his shoulder twisting about in agony and making his leg ache with it. Driftwood covered the shoreline; gnarled twists of trees from God-knows-where gifted to John to save him from boredom. 

John didn't need to walk very far to get his driftwood. There were several thick branches and logs that could be transformed into something beautiful right at the bottom of the steps John had dug into the beach’s bank for easier access. 

But something called him out a bit further along the shore. 

So John followed his instincts and continued his hunt. 

Broken branches were strewn about in something resembling a maze, John following their path and only needing to occasionally step over an unmovable log. 

And that's when he heard it. 

A faint clicking sound twenty paces away. It sounded like that of a dolphin or bat, chirping clicks for echo-location.

John moved through the driftwood maze, quick to reach the aid of a beached mammal. The clicking got louder the closer he got, John moving with more ease as his cane was dropped so he could clamber over a tree’s trunk. As his feet landed heavily on the damp stones, John paused with shock. The sleek, long tail of a shark stuck out from beneath several thick branches, the predator trapped and beached. Grooves were dug deep into the stones, John estimating that the shark had been stranded since the early hours of the morning when the storm had been at its peek. The clicking took on a more of a chirping tone now that it could sense that somebody was close. "I thought sharks didn't use echo-location..." John mused aloud as he circled around the tail to see the head of the beast. 

John didn't have the words to describe what he saw. 

Where there should have been the head of a shark was instead the torso of a man. 

John quickly looked back over the branches, hoping he was imagining things and praying he would find human legs trapped beneath the wood. The tail twitched in an attempt to free itself from the branches and a pained cry of clicks and chirps fell from the creature’s mouth. 

John made calming shushing sounds as he focused his attention back on the human half of the creature. "I'm going to remove the branches. I need you to stay still for me whilst I do it." The creature looked at John curiously before thrashing about violently beneath the pinning branches. "Can you understand me? Do you speak English?" John received frustrated chirps in reply which he took for a sound _'no.'_

One of the creature’s arms was pinned under another heavier log. The other was free and John carefully noted the razor sharp points where the fingers ended. The creature had its eyes glued to John, not having decided whether the human was friend or foe yet. John slowly raised his right hand to his chest, palm flat against his heart. He then motioned to the branches trapping the creature’s tail and made a lifting motion. Looking back to the creature, John nodded his head slowly, asking if the half-shark understood. 

The creature risked a glance at the branches, then back to the human and nodded its head slowly in recognition. 

John gave a small smile and set about pulling away the top branches, careful not to disturb them too much should they come falling down on the half-shark's tail. Bit by bit, John managed to gingerly free the creature’s tail.

He winced at the rubbed raw areas just below the creature’s hips, the branches having sanded and stripped away flesh where it had tried to free itself. The creature gave a few grateful chirps before letting out hissed clicks as it moved it's tail slightly, realizing the extent of the damage it had done by trying to free itself. 

John gained the creature’s attention again by raising his hand back to his chest then pointing to the log and making a lifting motion again. The half-shark gave a small chirp and nodded its head. 

John stepped closer to the creature to see how its arm was pinned. The thick log sat just before the joint of its elbow, trapping the creature's arm against the beach's stones. He looked over the log to see the half-shark’s hand, wrist and a bit of forearm within view. John crouched where he was standing and looked back to the creature’s face who was watching him closely, body tense and ready to attack should the need arise. "Can you move your fingers? I need to know if there is still circulation to your hand."

The creature cocked its head to the side and fixed John with a look that said _'We have already established that I cannot speak your language, make motions with your arms again'._

John fought back a smirk at the look the half-shark gave him. He pointed to the creature’s trapped arm then brought his own hand up, clenching and unclenching his fist. Peering back over the log, John was happy see the pointed fingers move slowly towards the creature’s fist then unfurl, repeating the action twice more before stilling entirely. John came back over the log and smiled brightly at the half-shark. "This is very good. There shouldn't be any permanent damage, just a lot of bruising." John got up and stretched his back, a few of the vertebrae popping with disuse.

Looking back to the half-shark John placed his hand on his chest once more. He pointed to the log and made a lifting motion, then pointed at the creature's trapped arm and made a quick yanking move with his own arm. The creature nodded frantically, his free hand coming up to grip tightly at the bicep of its trapped arm, ready to pull it free. 

John thought about finding a thick branch to use as a lever, jamming it under the log and using his weight to push down on the raised end of the branch to lift the log high enough for the half-shark to pull its arm free. But the stones beneath the log would just move and shift, never giving him a solid surface to push down against. He was going to have to lift the log himself, no other way about it. 

John rubbed his palms together as small sparks of adrenaline worked their way through his veins, giving him hidden strength. With one last look at the creature, who was watching him avidly, John dug his fingers as far as he could under the log and adjusted his weight before pulling upwards with all his might.

The log lifted about ten centimetres, just enough space for the creature to pull its arm out, chirps and clicks letting John know that he could lower the log once more. John dropped the log and let out the breath he had been holding during the exertion.

John fell to his knees beside the half-shark, a child-like smile covering his face at saving a trapped and injured animal. His head turned to assess the damage the log had caused this strange creature, well placed caution reminding him to keep his movements slow. 

The humanized half of the creature was made of alabaster tones and blue hues with hints of a more human pink-y colouring in the tones of its skin. The lighter blue tones only got darker the farther past its waist John looked, until it settled into the telltale muted black of shark’s skin on the creature’s tail. The tail in itself was odd. It wasn't quite what a shark’s tail should look like. Not that John was an expert on sharks (he’d carved a few and done the appropriate anatomical study required to make the carvings look realistic), but something seemed a bit off in regards to the whole lower portion of the creature.

He examined the wounds the creature had given himself trying to escape by sight alone. The middle part of the tail, about where knees would be on a human, was a bloody mess. Literally. Most of the skin around that area had been rubbed raw against the bark of the branches, the depth of the abrasions varying across the area. There were several cuts along the raw flesh made by the bases of broken branches that had jutted outwards and proven dangerous. The blood from the cuts had already dried up and begun its healing process as clear fluid oozed forth to protect the wound from the elements and infection. But the creature had given himself three long gouges that were still seeping thick red blood. It was a slow bleed now, but John had no idea how long ago those deep cuts had been made and for how long they had been bleeding. He guessed for over five hours by the amount of dried blood that clung to the sharkskin and the stones beneath the tail. The half-shark's recent flail would have opened up its wounds again. 

His gaze moved up to look at the creature's previously trapped right arm. John had been right before, there was a lot of bruising on its upper forearm where the log had sat. With the angry hisses and clicks the half-shark was emitting every time it went to shift its arm or move its fingers, John guessed that there might be some pressure fractures hiding beneath those severe bruises. 

John moved his hand so that his palm sat flat on his chest, gaining the creatures attention as expected. He pointed to the creature then at his bruised arm. Picking up a stick, John pointed to the arm again before snapping the stick in half. The creature hissed in understanding, angry clicks being thrown about. When it had calmed down a bit the half-shark have John a curt chirp to continue, fixing its eyes on the human’s once more. John placed his palm on his chest again, pointed to the bruised arm then pushed the snapped stick back together to show it whole again. The creature brightened up sceptically at that, giving John several chirps and clicks to his proclamation. John got its attention back by pointing to the destroyed area of the tail, placed his hand on his chest and pointed to an unharmed part of the tail. It took a bit longer for the half-shark to understand this part, but when John repeated the motions again the creature understood, chirping and clicking away happily at the prospect of being healed. 

John got its attention again by placing his hand over his chest the pointed to his head as he shook it negatively. He picked up the broken stick and pushed it back together, pointing to the creature. Finally he pointed both hands down at the stony ground below him and the beach around him. "I can't heal you here." John breathed out in frustration. He hoped this creature was smart enough to understand his poor charade skills.

It seemed very possible when the creature fixed him with a look and several angry clicks that indicated: _'Then why did you even both saying you could heal in the first place?!'_

"I can heal you back at my house though." John began his final charade by placing his palm once more on his chest. He nodded his head in an affirmative as he put the broken stick back together again, pointing to the bruised arm. Finally, John pointed up over the beach bank towards his house where its roof could just be seen. 

The half-shark seemed to have understood John, but its body language leaned towards hostile. Eyes scanning the human warily, the creature nodded its head slowly, willing to risk going with this strange human in the prospect of being healed. 

John smile at the half-shark. Then his smile faltered when he realized he had to carry the creature back up the beach through the driftwood maze all the way to his house. The total distance couldn't be more than 200 meters, but carrying something that bordered on mythological and didn't look light in any sense of the word, brought forth a few problems. John moved to the other side of the half-shark, closer to the uninjured arm. The creature watched him carefully, razor fingers ready to shred the flesh from John's bones. Placing his hand on his chest, John made a lifting motion with his arms then pointed to the half-shark. 

He received a glare as a warning, letting John know that if he tried to pull anything, it would be the last thing he ever did. It stretched its good arm upwards, lifting its tail as much as possible, small pained clicks escaping its lips. 

John knelt, and very slowly secured his right arm under the creature’s left along the back of its ribs. The half-shark gripped his left shoulder securely, as John delicately manoeuvred its injured right arm into its own lap. Damp curls were pressed under John's chin as the creature breathed deeply around the pain, harsh chirps making John’s chest ache in empathy. John made delicate shushing noises, whispering comforting nothings as he gingerly pushed his left arm under the mid-thigh region of the tail. Adjusting his stance slightly, John lifted with his knees as he picked the half-shark up bridal style. 

Fortunately, the lift went a bit smoother than he thought it would. The half-shark wasn't even close to the weight it appeared, and for some reason that worried John a bit. The sheer amount of muscle in the half-shark’s tail should have made the weight of the creature crippling to carry, yet John guessed the creature weighed just a little less than himself.

The walk back through the half-maze of branches wasn't easy, but the adrenaline in John's system from carrying a creature of myth helped immensely. He bumped the half-shark’s tail into stray branches many times and was reprimanded instantly by harsh clicks and chirps.

And he learnt the hard way that sharkskin was smooth and sleek in one direction, but tougher and coarser than sandpaper in the other. The arm under the creature's tail felt raw and ripped, no doubt heavily irritated and possibly bleeding. But John carried on without complaint as he climbed the inbuilt stairs up the beach's bank and up the two remaining steps to his back porch.

The back door was closed.

Great.

Just _great._

Shifting his balance of the half-shark slightly, John managed to clumsily open the door with his right hand, the chirps and clicks the creature gave him taking on the tone of chiding. Entering his house sideways, and being very conscious of that tail, John made his way to his bathroom, the one with a fairly large bathtub. 

Turned out fairly large by human standards was fairly on the cramped side for mythical half-sharks. Its tail hung out the end of the bath to the point were it touched the wooden floor. 

John put the plug in and turned the cold water tap on. The creature immediately let out appreciative chirps, its uninjured left hand seeking cupfuls of the fresh water to bring to its mouth to drink. It chirped away and looked at John as it did, taking another handful of the fresh water. John interpreted this as: _"I've lived my whole life in the sea and have never tasted anything quite like this. The lack of sodium makes it quite refreshing."_ Unlike some of the houses located closer to the village, the farms out here on the coast had the luxury of sourcing water from an underwater well that ran beneath all of their properties. It was regularly tested every month for contaminants and for quantity to assure that not only was it safe to drink and bathe in, but that there was enough to use domestically. And honestly, now that John had gotten used to drinking water fresh from an underground spring, the stuff saturated in 'safe chemicals' that was administered everywhere else over the continent tasted awful. He loved his private little stream, and his love for the fresh water seemed to be shared by the half-shark. 

As the bath continued to fill, John turned his attention away from the consistently chirping and clicking creature and began hunting out appropriate medical supplies from the bathroom cabinet. He didn't want to use anything that contained man-made chemicals for fear that it would irritate the creature too much. Which left very little in the ways of cleaning its wounds. He placed his supplies down beside the bath and exited the bathroom to go get a chair from the kitchen table.

John couldn't help but smile when he came back in the room, wooden chair in his hands. The half-shark had obviously lost its battle against curiosity and had gone searching through the supplies John had left beside the bath. In its sharpened fingers was the end of a roll of gauze bandage, the roll having unravelled and spread across the bathroom floor. John placed the chair down close to the bath and sat on it as he took the end of gauze carefully from the half-shark. It watched rapt as he rolled it back up and placed it back on the floor, seemingly appreciating the dexterity of having such small and blunt phalanges.

John stood back up and opened the linen cupboard, taking out a towel and a couple of face cloths. Sitting back down, John unfolded the towel and dunked it into the water of the bath around the pelvic fins at the half-shark's hips. He drained the towel slightly before placing it delicately over the part of the creature's tail that was hanging out of the bath. It chirped happily at John's thoughtfulness.

Next, John dunked one of the face cloths into the tub as he tried to look at the submerged wound on the top on the creature's tail. It was hard to make out anything under the constant ripples of the moving water. John looked at the half-shark to get its attention and pointed to its tail then pointed upwards, asking it to lift it up for John to see. The half-shark tried but let out a litany of pained clicks and hisses, glaring at its own tail. John made shushing sounds as he tried to calm the creature down. It didn't seem to be working though when the half-shark made to move its right arm for some reason then began hissing all over again. He needed to find something to distract the creature whilst he examined its arm first then its tail.

John looked around the bathroom for any object at all that might interest the creature and could only come across a very cliché carving he done of three dolphins. He plucked it off the windowsill and presented it to the half-shark. Just like he thought, the creature was pleasantly distracted by examining the carving. John placed it in the water of the creature’s lap as he quickly went about picking up the splints and gauze bandage. He put the rolls of gauze in his lap as he gingerly touched the creature’s right shoulder. Ice blue eyes quickly snapped to the hand, then John's face. John made the motion of repairing the broken stick then pointed to the injured arm. Its eyes softened a bit as the half-shark gave a small nod, turning its attention back to the wooden dolphins in his lap. John breathed a sigh of relief as he delicately grasped the injured arm at elbow and wrist, bringing it out of the water. John was mindful of the razor sharp blade that extended outwards from the creatures elbows, hand gently gripping the blunt part of the solid extension. He heard a few warning clicks, but the half-shark let John closely examine the dark bruise close to its elbow.

John didn't dare touch and prod the bruise to feel if the bone was actually broken or not, but from sight alone, it didn't appear to be. There was a bit of raised swelling indicating healing fluids as the creature’s body sought to repair some minor fractures, but for the most part the half-shark had merely sustained an almighty bruise. It wouldn't take too long to heal properly, but in the mean time, John needed to ensure that the bones in its arm would not be knocked about so they could heal properly.

John placed the first splint to the left of the massive bruise and picked up one of the gauze bandage rolls. He secured the splint with a couple of layers of gauze before placing the second splint to the right of the bruise and repeated his steps. The first roll ran out, John grabbing a second and then a third to completely cover the splints and apply a comfortable pressure to the bruise. Once done, John replaced the remaining rolls of gauze on the floor before picking up a sling. He placed the middle of the thin material under the bandaged arm then guided it towards the half-shark's chest. Once the desired angle was achieved, John reached behind the creature’s head to tie off the ends of the sling in two secure knots.

The half-shark chirped and clicked its thanks as it relaxed its right arm, shoulder sagging in as much comfort as could be expected given the situation. John saw that it had its left hand on the carving, tracing over the dorsal fin of the middle dolphin. He smiled at his distraction having worked before shifting his chair slightly to sit right in front of the injured part of the half-shark's tail. 

The water had stilled to a near calm now that the creature wasn't moving about as much, and John frowned when he saw all the dried blood and even a few splinters in the worst part of the wound. He'd deal with the dry blood around the wound first being careful of the three large gashes. They weren’t deep enough to require stitches, and for that he was glad. John had no idea how he’d mime his way through sewing the creature up in claims of making it better.

Placing the wet face cloth beneath the water again, John wiped with the grain of the sharkskin around the wound, the dried up blood being cleaned away and tingeing the water slightly red with its quantities. Once the skin surrounding the wound was clean, John chucked the soiled cloth in the sink and picked up a pair of tweezers from his supplies. Tweezers in hand, John submerged his right arm under the half-shark's tail and slowly brought it to the surface so he could get a proper look at the wound. More splinters than he had previously seen were embedded in the tender flesh and John pointed them out to the creature. He then showed the tweezers and made a pulling motion next to one of the splinters. It nodded in recognition and John saw its hand tighten on the carving. John tried for a reassuring smile as he focused his attention of some of the bigger splinters. In a motion that was neither quick nor slow, he pulled the first splinter out and was gifted with a few pained clicks followed by encouraging chirps. Having the splinter out obviously felt a lot better than having it in, and the half-shark seemed to accept the fact that for it to get better it would have to suffer minutely first. 

It took a solid seven minutes to get all the obvious splinters out, seventeen in total. And it took another sixteen minutes for John to hunt out all the fine and smaller splinters, thirty-two in total. He was fairly sure he had gotten them all, so he delicately placed the tail back under the water. Where blood had welled up in some of the deeper splinters, it now washed away in the water, a mesmerizing swirl of crimson before it dissipated into clarity. John showed all the splinters to the half-shark who clicked and hissed at the small bits of wood, John chuckling as he threw them away in the small plastic bag lined bin under the sink. 

Looking back at the wound on the tail, John frowned. There wasn't much he could put on it to fight off a possible infection without running the risk of harming the half-shark more. John settled on submerging a gauze strip to dab lightly at the abrasions. He cleaned the wound as much as possible before binning the soiled gauze and pulling the plug to drain the dirty water. The half-shark clicked disapprovingly, making John laugh lightly. "I'll fill it back up, don't worry."

As the bath drained, the creature began chirping away, fingers of its left hand clutched tightly around the dolphins John had carved. Its head snapped up suddenly, looking between John and the carving before going off on another tangent of chirps and clicks. When it realized that John couldn't understand what it was saying the half-shark clicked angrily at the ignorant human. 

"Hey, it's a two way street, buddy." John couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Frowning deeply, the creature looked around desperately for a means to communicate. Reluctantly letting go of the carving, one long sharp finger gestured to John before pointing to the wooden dolphins. 

John nodded in affirmation, and smiled widely at the look of awe on the half-shark’s face. 

The water had completely drained from the bath, so John placed the plug back in and turned the cold water tap back on. He stood and exited the bathroom, coming back in with three other carvings in his arms. The half-shark took one look at his haul and stretched out his good hand greedily. John willingly gave over his carvings, carefully placing them around the mythical body in his bath. 

It started with the carving of coral that was bigger than John's own hand span, but smaller than the half-shark's. It chirped away happily, making the odd click as if critiquing John's handiwork. After that, it moved on to the human heart, panic taking over its features when the pieces of the heart fell apart. John laughed and picked the pieces up, putting them back together and placing the carving back in the creature’s hand. This time it purposefully dismantled the heart, awkwardly working with just one long fingered hand to put the pieces back together again. It managed after a bit of a struggle and looked up to John with a broad smile that showed off a set of sharp, pointed shark’s teeth. John smiled back and made a mental note to steer clear of the half-shark’s mouth.

The bath was only a third full, so John left the bathroom again to make himself a quick dinner, leaving the creature to chirp about the third carving of a lion by itself.

The half-shark had to be hungry as well. A raid of the fridge and pantry turned up a decent haul: apples, bananas, a loaf of bread, fresh salmon, full-fat milk, and John made a cup of tea for himself. Balancing the food carefully on a tray, John placed it on the bathroom sink as he sat back down on his chair and turned off the bath tap once the tub was full.

Expectantly, the half shark looked at the food in John’s arms and dropped the lion carefully into its lap as it perked up at the prospect of food.

John took a slice of the fresh salmon and passed it to the half-shark, pleased when it ate the fish greedily before looking to John for more. John laughed as he went about handing over the salmon slice by slice, eating an apple between passes. The creature looked at the half eaten apple in John’s hand with curiosity, never having seen the fruit, or any fruit for that matter, before. He took a large bite out of the apple and speared the chunk of fruit on the end of one of the creature’s sharp, extended fingers. It brought the fruit to its nose and sniffed. Not smelling anything off about the fruit, the half-shark took the chunk into its mouth and chewed carefully.

Its eyes widened comically as it began chirping away about the juicy fruit. John laughed at its enthusiasm and repeated the bite-spear motion of placing a chunk of apple on the creature’s finger. They went through two additional apples like this, John taking on a; ‘a bite for you, a bite for me’ policy. John ate the bread by himself, offering the loaf for the half-shark to sniff and not finding it surprising when it turned its head away in dismissal. He didn’t think bread would have gone done well in a shark’s mouth anyway.

John took a swig from the milk bottle, never being happier to live next to a dairy farmer and having access to pure, unprocessed milk. The half-shark looked at the white liquid with a tilt of its head and John smiled as he offered the top of the bottle for the creature to sniff. It chirped away at him and John took that as a sign of the half-shark wanting some. Carefully tilting the glass bottle to the creature’ lips, John nearly dropped the bottle laughing when its tongue came out between sharp teeth to lap at the lip of the bottle. The creature gave him a few clicks that suggested that it had no idea what he was laughing about, but it wanted more of the rich liquid it had only gotten a few laps of. John made sure the half-shark was watching when he pressed the lip of the bottle to his lips and took another drink of the fatty milk. He brought the bottle back to the creature’s lips and tilted the bottle up so it could replicate how John had drunk. The creature’s eyes stayed completely focused on John, pale eyes scanning the human’s face as John focused his attention on pouring an adequate amount of milk into the creature’s mouth, righting the bottle when he had deemed the half shark had had enough. 

John heard a series of chirps then clicks before the creature’s good hand wrapped around the wrist holding the bottle of milk and pulled it back towards its mouth.

“Alright, alright, calm down.” John smiled as he gave the half-shark more milk. The bottle was only fully removed when the creature had completely drained it.

John placed the empty bottle back on the tray and took it out into the kitchen, replacing the food they hadn’t eaten and rinsing out the milk bottle so it could be used again. Walking back into his bedroom John was struck with a very sudden fatigue. He walked into the bathroom and focused his head just enough to hear that the half-shark was singing. He used the term ‘singing’ loosely, the creature was making a series of melodic chirps that strung together to form a mythical tune that sapped the energy right away from John. Stumbling back out into his bedroom, John made sure the bathroom door was wide open as he clumsily went about taking off his clothes and putting his pyjamas on.

He had a perfect view of the bath from his bed once he snuggled under the blankets and smiled fondly at the creature in his bath tub watching him intently as it continued to sing. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t even noon yet, John was suddenly extremely tired and the fact that he hadn’t slept the night before so he could watch the storm suddenly seemed like a very stupid thing to have done. 

But for some very strange reason, John felt safe. He felt safe and sane and as his eyelids drooped closed, he felt like as long as this mythical creature, this amazing half-shark, was a part of his life, then he would never be bored ever again.

A content smile tugged at his lips as the siren’s song pulled him into a deep slumber, the half-shark the last thought on his peaceful mind.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: If you liked this please KUDOS, and if you really liked it then please COMMENT!! I love hearing back from you guys!!  
> Also, (shamelesspluggingtime) if you haven't already checked it out, go see my Tumblr account!! It's got the occasional piece of fanart and lots of little WIPs and chapter sneak-peeks. http://www.tumblr.com/blog/glow-dark-art Go on, you know you want to ;D


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